Disclaimer: I don't own Batman, Superman, Justice League or its characters.

Warnings: This fic deals with non-graphic rape/non-non and non-consensual drug use, though it all happens before the fic starts. This is pretty much just the aftermath. Please proceed with caution and do let me know if you think I should up the rating.

Bruce and Clark are not in a relationship here yet, but they were on their way there when this happened. Because I love angst too much.

...

Bruce knew going to the party was a bad idea. He just hadn't known how bad it was until he woke up naked and alone in a strange bed.

That in itself wasn't unusual. He may not sleep around as much as people were led to believe, but he still did it sometimes. Mostly as a way to relieve stress after long and difficult cases. What was unusual, however, was his total lack of recollection of what happened the night before, not to mention he hadn't slept with anyone since-

It didn't matter. The throbbing pain that made itself known a second later in a particular part of his body told him enough.

Some type of drug must have been involved, there was no other explanation for his current situation. Even drinking last night more than he had in years wouldn't explain the mess his pounding head was right now. Bruce licked his dry lips, the sour taste in his mouth almost making him gag.

He should have listened to Alfred when the butler told him getting a good night's sleep was more important than going to a party to put to rest the rumors caused by Bruce Wayne's lengthy absence, Bruce thought with a twitch of trembling lips. The butler always knew better.

Instead, he got drugged and- Bruce swallowed, ignoring his sore jaw and throat. He let his guard down. Because he was too tired. Too distracted to notice something was wrong.

He was the Batman and he let this happen to himself. It was pathetic. He was pathetic.

Bruce could feel himself getting worked up, his heart pounding hard against his chest and his breath becoming short and ragged as the panic started to rise. Only years of training and self-discipline helped him regain his composure, though it was harder than it should be.

It was then and only then that he let himself think back to the situation at hand, no matter how much Bruce wished he could ignore what happened. He wanted- No. He needed to get out of here.

With that thought in mind, Bruce attempted to sit up, biting the inside of his cheek to stop a gasp from escaping his lips as he felt the flare of pain caused by the movement. By the time he sat up, there was a metallic taste in his mouth, and he was almost grateful for it.

It was familiar.

Bruce took another deep breath before looking down at his body. At the finger-shaped bruises on his hips and thighs, the few scratches and smaller new bruises. The patches of dried semen on his stomach that hadn't been fully cleaned. But it was the sticky and disgusting sensation between his legs and buttocks what made him fist the sheets and close his eyes as he fought nausea.

He needed to get out of this bed and go clean up before he could get out of here but he just couldn't move. Not yet. He needed to calm down first.

Bruce was pulled out of his almost meditative state an unknown time later by the sound of something hitting glass. He opened his eyes to find Superman hovering outside the French door balcony, the golden light of the sun behind him making his figure glow.

Of course he was here. Of course. Because obviously his humiliation hadn't been completed yet. The sight only made Bruce feel even dirtier.

He had no choice but to reach with shaking fingers for the sheet hanging by the foot of the bed and wrap it around his body, covering as much skin as he could before attempting to get to his feet. He barely managed to stay upright as a wave of dizziness hit, and while he waited for it to pass he used the time to arrange his features into a blank mask.

There was no sign of pain or discomfort as he closed the distance to the glass door, though it took him far too long to get his fingers to open the door.

"Are you okay?" Clark asked as soon as he floated inside, even when it was clear they both knew he wasn't.

"I'm fine." His voice was nothing but a croak so he had to clear his throat before speaking again. "What are you doing here."

"Alfred was worried because he couldn't contact you since last night."

"What time it is?"

"It's already past three."

Bruce blinked. Well, that explained why Alfred was worried. He never stayed uncommunicated for so long, not when he went out as Bruce Wayne.

He tensed as soon as he felt Clark's eyes on him, scanning his body. He wanted to snap at him to stop, but the words didn't come. He should have pretended everything was fine and act annoyed by Clark's interruption before kicking him out, but the time to do that had passed and now he had to face the consequences. There was no way Clark would read the signs wrong.

And as much as he hated that Clark was seeing him like this, Bruce was also grateful to have his safe and familiar presence here with him.

"Don't," He managed to snarl as soon as Clark's expressive eyes came to meet his own.

Clark met his eyes for a timeless moment before giving him a solemn nod, taking him by surprise. Bruce honestly had been expecting more questions or Clark's clumsy, but well-meaning attempts to comfort him and make sure he was okay. Or as okay as he could ever be.

In that moment of heavy silence, Bruce knew that that thing between them, the one they had finally stopped ignoring was over now. Over before it could even begin, and it was all his fault. Because he was weak and careless.

"How can I help?"

Bruce said nothing, watching Clark as he considered the question carefully. He licked his lips. "Can you get me out of here?"

"Of course," Clark was quick to reply, only to hesitate a second later. "Um. Do you need a moment?"

Bruce followed his gaze, remembering then that a thin sheet was the only thing covering his naked and filthy body. He gave a small nod before walking back to where he saw his clothes on the floor by the bed. He kept an arm wrapped tightly around his body to keep the sheet in place as he reached for his clothes.

He froze when he saw the small white stains on the dark fabric and the place where one of the buttons had been ripped off. Rather than dress up, he took his cell phone and a few others personal items from the pockets and let the suit on the floor.

Clark didn't say anything. He didn't have to. The only thing Bruce could do was avert his eyes.

"It's okay," He murmured, touching Bruce's shoulder. The touch was gentle and light, but it still made him tense.

"Let's just get out of here," He told him tiredly.

Clark moved tentatively, both to close the distance between them and to touch him. A pained hiss still made it pass Bruce's lips as Clark lifted him up with an arm under his legs and the other supporting his back.

Bruce dismissed the apology with a shake of his head and wrapped his arms tightly around Clark's neck, burying his face in his chest. He felt the gentle press of a kiss on his head just before they took off, making him squeeze his eyes shut.

He was going to hunt and punish whoever did this to him, but right now he just needed to stay in Clark's arms and pretend he was safe.

...

a/n: Why must I hurt the one I love again and again, I do not know. There must be some kind of curse or something that give us fans the need to see our favorite characters hurt in every possible way and love every second of it. I don't know, but I hope you liked this in some way. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

English is not my native language, so any tips or corrections are welcome.